Farewell to a Friend
by kayaklady
Summary: A small explanation as to why the Mexican authorities chose not to pursue Johnny Madrid after his escape from the firing squad and the fallout from the news of his demise. If you haven't read "The Feud" yet I suggest that you read that story first.


Farewell to a Friend

By Kayaklady

Summary: A small explanation as to why the Mexican authorities chose not to pursue Johnny Madrid after his escape from the firing squad and the fallout from the news of his demise.

If you haven't read "The Feud" yet I suggest that you read that story first.

*Lancer * Laramie* Lancer*

The sun beat down upon the small adobe hotel assaulting the walls and tiled roof in a determined effort to bake the inhabitants alive. A tall grey haired man, in a well cut suit, turned on his slightly disheveled portly subordinate. "Blast you Harold! You were just supposed to bribe the Captain and spring one man, not shoot up an entire squad."

The portly man squeaked, "I thought everything was under control. I swear. The man I was sent to collect was dead on his feet until he grabbed my gun and started shooting. I tell you that man is fast and smart. I didn't realize the mess I was in until hideout guns started falling from dead fingers." He licked his lips nervously, "What are we going to do now?"

"You will do nothing. General Morales and I have come to an arrangement. They will publish a story about the execution of Johnny Madrid. That is the story that I will take north with me tomorrow, and spread it through every boarder town in the southwest." The grey-haired man scowled at his companion, "I suggest that you keep it to yourself that he is not."

Harold straightened to attention and almost snapped a salute, "Yes sir. What is the position the Federals are taking with the dead men?"

The older man shrugged, "That is being explained as an unsuccessful rescue attempt by Madrid's fellow revolutionaries."

Harold wrung his hands, "Does the Government know of my involvement?"

"At this time only General Morales. He suggests that you get out of Mexico as quickly as possible."

Harold scuttled to the closet, "If you don't mind my asking sir, why is the General so willing to sweep this under the rug?"

"The general isn't eager to have the peons know that their blasted hero is alive and well. So let us hope that greed will take Madrid north and keep him there."

"You know that our client paid a huge sum of money to get his long lost son home. Does he have any idea who his son is?" portly Harold asked his boss.

"Oh yes, I suspect the man wishes to use Madrid's gun to settle the land grabbers moving onto his range."

"What do you think Madrid will do?"

The tall man rubbed the bridge of his nose, "Who cares… if he helps his old man and gets killed then we're in the clear. If he stays up there on his daddy's land, we're still off the hook."

"And if he tells his old man to go to hell and starts spreading it around that Madrid is alive and well?"

His boss sighed, "Then we have a problem. Fortunately, I have a solution."

"Ah, a man in search of a reputation," Harold smiled knowingly as he pulled a pair of saddle bags from the closet.

"No a sharpshooter without any interest in a reputation; he is well aware that a colt has a limited range and that will guarantee a large payday."

Clothing came from the closet and Harold stuffed it into the bags, "He is in position already?"

"No, but he will be in at Lancer a few days before Madrid's arrival. He will watch, wait and if needed carry out his orders. If Madrid is smart, and stays, then he will do nothing and just disappear. No one will know of our involvement."

"Well done, sir." The little man closed up the saddlebags, "I believe I will head toward the border now."

*Laramie*Lancer*Laramie*

We stepped from the hot and dusty street into the dark and cool interior of the saloon. I called out, "Hey Jack I'll take a beer" and Jess echoed my order.  
Jack drew two remarking, "Don't see you often mid-week."  
I grinned, "Needed some supplies. Just wanted to wet the whistle before heading back."  
Jess chimed in, "Traveler needed the exercise too."  
With a chuckle, Jack slid the beers to us. He knew his clients well and Jess was one of those cowboys who'd use any excuse to ride his horse over riding in a wagon.

Scooping up my beer, I turned to see who else was with us. Doyle Shultz had his nose buried in the local paper a cup of coffee by his elbow. Myron Firth, the Hotel owner, relaxed at a table with what looked like the other half of the paper scattered about. For a neat freak, the man sure read sloppy. Which was, a sure and certain, disappointment because catching up on the day's news had been something I'd been looking forward to. Fortunately, Firth and Shultz were just as happy to be talkative when asked, "So any news?"  
Firth chimed in about Sports and Business. Then Shultz chimed in about the day's headlines. None of which were remarkable. Shultz turned a page exclaiming, "Well whoo-wee, the dad gummed Mexicans done shot Johnny Madrid."  
Jack's somewhat bored tone did nothing to hide his professional interest in a topic that was going to be good for all night conversations, "That's interesting; you care to enlighten us more?"  
Shultz happily obliged, reading the article word for word. Firth gleefully received the news of Madrid's arrest, following a failed revolution attempt, and his summary firing squad execution. In the middle of all this, I glanced at my friend and new hand. His face was blank. Then a slow jaw twitch developed as Jess stalked toward the bar.  
Jess looked at Jack, "Tequila."  
Now Jack is known for a well stocked bar but tequila isn't a well known beverage this far north. I was a bit surprised when the man emerged from deep under the bar bearing a dust covered bottle.  
Jess shocked me by proceeding to buy the bottle and slug back four shots. He had never shown the habit of drinking to excess. So something was far wrong.  
I bellied up to the bar next to him, "Jess?"  
"Don't worry about me. I'm taking Traveler home now. Want to give him his legs so don't try and keep up." Then with a turn and a nod, Jess exited the bar. I inhaled the last of my beer and hurried after him only catching a bare glimpse of him as he pulled out of town.

Entering the house the first thing I noticed was that the hide out was wide open and that Jonesy was almost frothing at the mouth, "Slim you can thank your lucky stars that Andy sleeps like the dead! That new hand of yours is drunk as a skunk. Any clue what set this off?"  
"We just heard that Johnny Madrid died and that seems to be key to this. I bet that Jess knew him."  
"Don't follow him. He's in no mood for company."  
"This is exactly why I'm following him. That's too much liquor for one man to drink. I'm taking Alamo, could you settle the team for me?"  
Jonesy agreed and worked on the wagon while I saddled Alamo. As I mounted up Jonesy's parting advice, "Just don't get yourself shot," rang in my ears.

Ma's words, "What is it about you men? You get to hurting and you sneak off to be by yourselves. It's the worst thing you can do," echoed in my head, just as Jess' shots rang in my ears.  
Pulling up to the lake, the twilight revealed Jess at the water's edge. He'd take a drink then fast draw and blow away a twig with each shot. So maybe he wasn't as drunk as Jonesy thought.  
Jess gave a wave with the bottle and staggered towards me as I swung off of Alamo.  
"Slim, good to see you," he slurred.  
Okay, he is plowed. I snatched the bottle from Jess' swaying hand and found the thing to be half-empty. Taking a sip; the alcohol went down smoothly, "Hope you don't mind my joining you."  
Jess' amiable, "Ps-nah." Shows me that I'm dealing with an easy drunk. Given how accurate his shooting still is, that is a good thing.  
"So you are drinking to an old friend?"  
"How'd you know?" he asked with suspicious owlishness.  
"Officer in the late war, remember. I've seen that look more than once, and you got it."  
Jess turned back toward the water, staring into its black depths, then spoke from the dark recesses of memory, "The snot nosed brat was just full of piss and vinegar when I first met him."  
"That's not how most folk talk about Johnny Madrid."  
"No they don't. Of course, I met him when he was maybe 16. God's gift to vaqueros according to him, and using that name for all of 2 seconds," he slurred.  
"Wait what do you mean by that?"  
"I mean we signed on to the Lazy 8 the same day and when the boss asked the kids name he piped up Johnny fast as ever. But there was a big old pause as the kid stared at a Bullfighting poster and then out pops 'Madrid'." Jess snorted a half laugh, "Needless to say I didn't take a shine to him, or he to me." His hands ran alongside his legs with nervous energy, "Mr. Martin finally got fed up with our antics and set us to ride circle together. I guess he figured we'd either learn to get along or kill each other."  
Jess turned quiet then, lost in his memories and staring at the water. I figured that it was better than him poisoning himself and blowing away half the countryside. I put my hand on his shoulder and it was like hardened steel. "It's not your fault."  
"Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. The kid didn't have a reputation when we started riding together. Shoot, I was the one everyone thought was fastest. Thanks to my big mouth and me, the kid chose to keep using the Madrid handle after we parted. He got faster too."  
The shoulder under my hand stayed firm and he sighed, "Kid wanted to come along when I took off. I just thought he'd have a chance, at a better life, if he didn't ride outlaw with me."

Both my eyebrows shot up at that admission. Jess must be really drunk to admit that. I helped myself to a serious shot and this time the liquor hits like a Kentucky mule.  
In drunken half amusement he asked, "Surprise you that I rode outlaw for a while?"  
"Somewhat, are you still wanted?"  
"No, not for what I rode out on the kid for."  
"That's good." I've half a mind to ask if he's wanted for something else but decide that, while he'd likely tell me the truth right now, I really didn't want to know. I take another drink and remark, "Interesting stuff."

Jess turned and made a play for the bottle, "Tequila, Johnny's favorite."  
I evade and take another drink. "Second guessing yourself never works. You play the cards you're dealt as best you can. It sounds like you tried to do your best by Johnny."  
His grim dejected, "Yeah," warranted the return of my hand to his shoulder.  
"Not your fault it didn't work out," the shoulder under my hand started to slump under my touch.  
"Maybe you're right," he motioned for the bottle, "Give it here."  
"Don't you think you've had enough?"  
"What? Oh yeah, well give it here anyway. Johnny and I'd promised we'd do this when one of us got killed."

Jess took the bottle and heaved it over his shoulder and out over the water. In an eye blink he drew his fighting gun and blew the bottle to bits, "Via con Dios amigo."  
Dad gum he is fast, and as hard to imagine it Johnny Madrid was faster.  
He handed me his gun, "Would you mind putting this away for me, pard?" I nodded.  
He walked past me and I saw him stagger. Sliding up behind I was just in time to grab a hold as he went down. Hoisting him up over my shoulder, I hauled him along remarking to Traveler, "Your boss is going to have one heck of a hangover in the morning. Course it sounds like he just said good-bye to one heck of a friend."

Pushing my inebriated friend onto his horse, I wondered about the choices a 16-year-old makes that makes him the fastest gun alive before he is 20. "Trav, do you think Jess will ever talk about Johnny again?" The horse snorted in my face. "I agree, probably not." I tied my friend on and mounted up. I guess the mystery of Jess Harper and Johnny Madrid will have to wait.

The End


End file.
